Because Skinny had no suitable Pokémon to send out and Reiji only had a single Spinarak available, the two of them were genuinely strapped.

Doing shady work with only their public-facing Pokémon was a bad habit, a hole they needed to patch fast.

Once they were set, Spinarak scouted ahead and returned, hopping onto Reiji’s shoulder. It tapped his shoulder with a fuzzy foreleg to signal no danger below. Only then did they ease into the dim corridor—Reiji leading, Skinny behind.

Without a Pokémon to guard him, Skinny could only stick close to Reiji’s back.

Before long, the passage ahead brightened—the exit.

The moment they stepped out, a wave of cheers crashed over them, hot air rolling at their faces.

Heat, sweat, and perfume mixed in the stifling air—maybe the underground ventilation was busted.

They looked down to see a bout on the ring: two Fighting-type Pokémon had just decided the match.

Seeing the bustle, Reiji let out a silent breath. If the black market was still this lively, it hadn’t changed hands. Someone in Kinnow City still controlled it; trade was still normal.

So what had Team Rocket been doing all this time, if they hadn’t taken the black market? Maybe the market wasn’t their goal. Maybe there was something else in play.

Leaning on the iron railing along the aisle, Reiji watched the arena and the roaring crowd, turning over possibilities about Team Rocket. For a seaside city, what besides the black market could attract them?

“Reiji-nii, is that a Fighting-type I’ve never seen?” Skinny pointed at a sleek monkey Pokémon with a mane of ever-burning flame. Its coat was mostly reddish-brown, with white tufts on its head, chest, shins, and feet.

Golden, spiral-like scales ringed its shoulders, chest, backs of the hands, and knees. A red facial pattern sat above bright, focused eyes—blue irises set in yellow sclera.

Lithe limbs, five blue digits on hands and feet, flames wreathing both, and a long tail behind—handsome and fierce: Infernape.

Infernape had won on the ring, and Skinny couldn’t help but stare, full of envy.

“That’s Infernape, Sinnoh’s Fire-type starter, dual-typed with Fighting. A really solid Pokémon…”

Reiji’s thoughts on Team Rocket cut off at Skinny’s interruption. He gave up on the thread, resting a hand on Skinny’s head and signaling him to follow.

If they needed one later, getting a starter wasn’t impossible. It was just hard for them now; for a near-Elite trainer, it wasn’t.

Wading through the crowd, Skinny was still replaying the Infernape in his head—Fighting as a secondary type? Now he really wanted Infernape.

Then he frowned slightly. Starters were picked by the League; any of them were hard to obtain, and high-potential hatchlings were rarer still. Ordinary ones, sure—those were common.

While Skinny dreamed about Infernape, Reiji eavesdropped.

One name kept bubbling up: Dratini. And “pseudo-legendary.”

A pseudo-legendary on the market? Or had word of a pseudo-legendary surfaced right as Team Rocket moved? None of it felt right.

It was a pseudo-legendary. He dreamed of having one. But the interests involved were too big.

If he got involved, he’d be crushed before he ever touched it, left as a cold, anonymous body on the roadside. Pseudo-legendary business wasn’t for him—yet. He absolutely couldn’t join that scramble.

Never doubt the weight of a pseudo-legendary. Never doubt how mad trainers get. With a single pseudo-legendary, you could aim for the Elite Four.

That was the terror of pseudo-legendaries—the very term means power. Sometimes the name alone makes people shudder.

To even step into that fight, you’d need near-Elite strength at least. An auction like that could even draw actual Elite trainers.

Take the stolen Elekid: in front of a pseudo-legendary, that was nothing.

Investigations into the Elekid theft hadn’t stopped these days, but Reiji had already told Skinny: don’t send Elekid out in public until the heat dies down.

Skinny’s Elekid had clean origins; nothing to fear in a check. The worry was hotheads going after anyone with an Elekid—collateral damage would be a mess.

Hiding Elekid forever wasn’t the answer, either. They could pick a good moment to reveal it—tomorrow’s Club League opening was perfect.

With so many eyes watching, the Day Care would at least pretend to have a conscience. They weren’t going to mug a kid in front of everyone.

Having sorted through that, Reiji relaxed a little and drifted into the stalls section. The trip wasn’t wasted—he’d confirmed two things.

First, the black market hadn’t changed hands.

Second, the black market had a pseudo-legendary in play.

That meant the market would become the center of the storm. The only question was when the powder keg would blow.

The fuse was likely the pseudo-legendary. That would be what set everything off.

When it did, the black market, the pseudo-legendary, Team Rocket, the Club League, the Fighting tournament, Kinnow City, and the trainers bidding for the prize—what roles would they all play?

A thought made Reiji stop short: the black market felt guided by an unseen hand. Everyone inside—trainers, shops, even him and Skinny—were pieces being moved.

The realization tightened his chest. A surge of malice washed over him—not just at him, but at everyone here. He suddenly wanted out.

A bad premonition, growing stronger. Probably tied to the countdown to the pseudo-legendary sale.

He’d also heard the auction time: tomorrow night at nine.

Which meant today was probably safe—but they still had to be careful.

With that settled, he stepped forward again—and someone slammed into him in passing.

The other person had a black hood, face hidden. All Reiji caught were a pair of sharp eyes and a slash of red bangs at the brow.

“Red…?” Reiji stared, dazed, not even reacting to the knockdown. Skinny had to pull him up.

Skinny gripped his arm, worried by the way Reiji had suddenly stopped, gotten hit, and then just… spaced out. Had he seen something terrifying?

“I’m fine.” Reiji shook him off gently and got to his feet, unsettled by the masked stares around them.

He tugged Skinny into the flow of people and slipped into a quieter corner, breathing a little hard, that flash of red replaying in his mind.

He couldn’t be sure. He was new to human society here and hadn’t met any faces from the anime he knew.

Even Skinny—he still wasn’t certain if Skinny was just a background extra from that show.

That fleeting figure… he didn’t dare name it. Not yet.

Either way, it was way too early for him to touch that circle. He felt no fanboy thrill at the thought.

If it really was who he thought—an Elite Four member—then what was he? A guppy. The other party would have no reason to remember his face, let alone chat or bond over nonsense.

Worse, what if he blurted out something that sounded like family secrets? He’d be in a holding cell.

If that really was the person he suspected, showing up here at this time had to be tied to Team Rocket—and maybe the pseudo-legendary.

Reiji shelved the guess and steadied himself, leading Skinny back into the stalls to see if there was anything worth picking up.

They were here already. Even if they wanted to leave, they’d at least make a lap. Otherwise it’d feel like a wasted trip.

Skinny kept his mouth shut and followed.

Reiji had told him before they came down: stick close, don’t wander, don’t talk. Skinny obeyed.

“Where to now?” Skinny asked softly. He wasn’t going to pry; if Reiji chose not to explain, there was a reason. He’d only ask when it mattered.

“Browse. See if we can find something good,” Reiji said as they walked.

“Something good?” Skinny immediately thought of Pokémon—his grandpa had told him about Reiji’s special ability.

If they stumbled on one or two decent-talent hatchlings, the trip would be more than worth it.

Booth by booth, and then—there it was. A hatchling that fit the bill. But this one had a defect, which was why no one was stopping at the masked seller’s table.

Most passersby asked why the price was so low. Once they heard the defect, they shook their heads and moved on.

Reiji and Skinny paused at the booth. The seller quoted 1.5 million. The Poké Ball held a Mankey hatchling.

“Can I take a closer look?” Reiji was curious why a Fighting-type was priced that low.

“You can,” the masked vendor nodded. This was his only hatchling; the rest were wild fruit and honey he’d grabbed while catching the Mankey.

With permission, Reiji picked up the ball and looked at the Mankey within—its status readout blossomed in his mind.

[Mankey]

[Type: Fighting]

[Gender: Male]

[Potential: 56%]

[Level: 4.33%]

[Abilities: Vital Spirit / 1.28%] [Defiant / 1.61%]

[Moves: (Fire Punch / 1.34%) (Thunder Punch / 1.22%) (Ice Punch / 1.31%) (Bulk Up / 0.61%) (Scratch / 2.31%) (Leer / 2.76%) (Focus Energy / 1.26%)]

“Yo, that potential’s not bad.” Reiji quietly admired it.

Fifty-six percent potential? That should fetch upward of ten million. Why only a bit over one?

On top of that, it had a hidden ability option, inherited the three elemental punches, plus Bulk Up—excellent gifts.

“Why is this Fighting-type so cheap?” Reiji set the ball down and voiced what everyone else had been thinking.

“T-this…” The masked seller stammered. He’d explained too many times today, only to watch interest die. He desperately didn’t want to bring it up again—he just wanted this Mankey gone.

Someone else answered for him.

“That Mankey’s lame in one leg. For a Fighting-type, that’s fatal…”

“Shut it!” the seller snarled at the interloper, furious at being undercut at the crucial moment. He swore he’d teach that guy a lesson later.

“I see.” Reiji rubbed his chin and started to turn away—only for the seller to clutch his leg.

“Don’t go. Name your price. I can go lower. Just buy it…”

Reiji looked down at the man on his shin. How desperate was he to unload this Mankey?

Reiji had been faking the exit anyway—he wasn’t about to walk away from near-Elite potential.

A limp? That was fixable—or at least manageable. He hadn’t expected the seller to be this frantic, though. “How much lower?”

“Uh… one hundred thousand?” the seller tried.

Reiji immediately angled away again, but the grip on his calf didn’t loosen.

“Don’t go! Two hundred—three—four!”

“All right. One million. I’ll take it,” Reiji said, cutting in.

“Really?” Tears sprang to the seller’s eyes. No one had bitten even at one million earlier.

Even for breeding, Day Cares worried about passing on a limp.

Like the man had said: for a Fighting-type, a limp is a life-long flaw—a permanent weak point in the ring.

“Really. Now get up,” Reiji said, shaking his leg free. The guy’s snot and tears were getting gross.

“Right, right—here, the ball.” The seller shoved the Poké Ball into Reiji’s hands, terrified he’d change his mind.

(End of Chapter)

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep